Seven Seals
by DrawMeASheep
Summary: COMPLETE. A series of somewhat connected events occurring after the season five finale, in seven parts. Some Tiva.
1. A White Horse

Disclaimer: I don't own NCIS. No. No. Still no. Wait…ye…no.

Spoilers: Through _Judgment Day_.

Summary: An exercise in melodrama and Revelation. A series of events occurring after the season finale that address what happens to the team.

* * *

Vance watched Gibbs' team – former team – file silently out of the office. His office. He sat and tried to get used to his new position. Something wasn't right.

He reached under his chair and pressed the lever, allowing it to sink to a more comfortable level. Perfect. Had Shepard really been that short? He sighed as he leaned back and surveyed the room. Not particularly decorated to his tastes. He was debating a new conference table when he encountered something he'd prefer not to have in the room. He was, however, thoroughly unsurprised. "Do you have something to say, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs stepped out of the shadows by the door and pulled one of the chairs away from the conference table that was definitely being replaced. He took his time situating it before sitting. "You already looked pretty used to your new desk."

"I've been sitting here for quite a while, Jethro."

"How does it feel now that it's not temporary?"

"Just fine." He gave Gibbs a minute to glare at him silently before prompting, "I have a lot to do, so if you wouldn't mind getting to the point…"

"A lot of people to fire, huh, Leon?"

"Would you like me to start with you?"

Gibbs smiled sarcastically. "Start?"

"If you are referring to Officer David, her position was terminated." Vance unwrapped a fresh toothpick and tucked it into the corner of his mouth. "We didn't need a Moussad liaison, especially not one working as a criminal investigator in DC."

"She's good at it."

"She was here because she was friends with Director Shepard. You can't tell me you handpicked her from a long list of candidates you interviewed after Agent Todd's death."

"You could have reassigned her to a team in the Middle East or Europe."

"She and DiNozzo are lucky they aren't both out on their asses after blowing their assignment." Vance stood and walked to the bottles of liquor. Picking the least offensive, he poured himself a glass. The brandy was expensive, but…just not right. Even the damn crystal he was drinking in from was wrong. He poured himself another and returned to his desk. So many things to change. He set the glass on the blotter and looked at Gibbs. "You still haven't said whatever you hung around to say."

"You made a big mistake." Gibbs stood and advanced a step, making Vance nervous until he continued, "My team deserved better."

"I think I was pretty clear about what two of them _deserved_, and I don't see how transferring McGee to a unit where his talents will be more fully utilized constitutes an injustice."

"Bullshit."

Vance was hard pressed to hold back a smile as he recited a diatribe he'd worked out while sitting through the eulogy earlier that day, "I suggest you calm down, Agent Gibbs. Over the past few days, the individuals under your direct supervision have demonstrated not only gross negligence in completing their assigned duties, which I don't think I need to remind you resulted in the death of this agency's director, but proven they can't be trusted when they're being held accountable by anyone but you. Quite frankly, you should be thanking me that all four of you aren't standing outside the main gate of the Navy Yard right now, blackballed from every federal agency in the country!"

"You listen to me, Leon…"

"No, you listen to me, Jethro! You've been walking around like you own this agency for far too long. I want to make it very clear that you are not some maverick hero fighting a corrupt system. From now on you are going to operate within the rules, and not some made-up one of your own, but the policies of this agency. Is that understood?"

Gibbs was tense, fuming. Vance sensed that he was about to win the round and stood up a little straighter. "If the next words out of your mouth aren't 'Yes, Director Vance,' I suggest you leave your weapon and badge on my desk right now and be done with it."

He could see the wheels in Gibbs' head turning. He was half-hoping that Gibbs quit, maybe grabbed the drink off his desk and tossed it in his face for good measure, but in many ways, Gibbs' decision was irrelevant. Vance waited, knowing that he had already taken care of the one final thing that could snatch this victory from him. His eyes flicked to the shredder before all of his attention focused on Gibbs.

His jaw finally unclenched just enough to squeeze out, "Yes, Director Vance."

Vance smiled. "It's been a rough few days and your people won't be arriving until tomorrow. Why don't you take some time off this afternoon to read over their files? I can assure you they're the best."

"Hmph." Gibbs' glare was sending a clear message, _No. I already had the best_. He said only, "I'll be at my desk. I'm sure Officer David will be looking for someone to give her weapon and badge."

"Thank you, Jethro. That will be all for now." Vance remained standing until Gibbs closed the door firmly behind himself. He was free to stew and plot all he wanted. There was simply nothing to be done. Vance settled himself in his chair and moved some of the objects on his desk into more accessible and convenient positions before holding up his drink in a solitary toast. "To Jen. Thanks for being so goddamn predictable."

He was still staring at the empty glass in his hand a minute later when he pressed the call button. "Miss Sumner, in half an hour I'd like you to have three things done for me."

"Sir?"

"First, I want you to pick out five conference tables you think would look good in here."

"But sir, you already have…"

He interrupted, "Second, five glassware patterns for the bar. Third, ten prints for the walls, I like the Renaissance. Be in here with my options in thirty minutes." He took his finger off the button before she had a chance to reply. He found the best way to test assistants was to see how easily they could please him. This Sumner woman would be just as easy to replace as DiNozzo, David and McGee.

Vance decided to spend his free time cleaning out Shepard's desk. _His_ desk.


	2. Another Horse That Was Red

Ziva pulled up as she crossed the appointed line, taking no time to catch her breath but immediately swinging the rifle over her shoulder and dropping behind a low stone wall. She took aim and fired three times in quick succession.

Two hundred meters away, three targets fell. Scooping up the casings at her knees, she crawled behind the wall until she had reached the cover of a building. She stood and slapped her hand on the windowsill. A voice inside called, "Time."

"You were nearly thirty seconds faster eight years ago, David." She didn't return the smile of the uniformed man who had emerged from the building holding a stopwatch, dragging another man by virtue of the lanyard securing the stopwatch around his neck. "But you still beat everyone else by a considerable margin. Where are those tender goslings?"

After securing her weapon, she looked at him seriously. "How much longer do I have to do this, Moshe?"

"Ah, ah. Officer Yonath to you in front of the…"

"They are half a kilometer behind!" she erupted. "This is such a fucking waste of time!"

Moshe tried to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off. He allowed her to walk away. She heard him say to his assistant, "You saw what she did hand-to-hand the other day. Why would I chase her when she has the additional benefit of a gun?"

She took a familiar path that led her up a rocky outcropping and toward the barracks. She just wanted a shower by herself in the common washroom after the six-kilometer trek and shooting course through the noonday desert sun. Upon her return to Moussad over a week before, she had been shunted into the training program for new recruits to prove she was still capable of doing her job. She had first accepted the arrangement as a matter of procedure, but eight days in the Negev among recruits so incapable and inexperienced she had to wonder if they had been specifically selected to exasperate her had sorely tested her patience. If she had to be home, she wanted to be useful.

A dust cloud in the distance made her pause. She swung her rifle around and squinted through the scope after wiping the sweat from her eyes. As the military jeep came closer, she was able to distinguish the man sitting in the passenger seat and was torn between rushing to the barracks and going back to join the group. She chose the latter. Shots began to ring out as she crested the hill. Moshe was shaking hands with the first of the recruits to finish the course when she jogged up to him. "Ah, David. Didn't expect you to…"

She interrupted, still unsure about the situation, "The Director is on his way here."

"Shit. This better be about you and not these…" he waved his hands to indicate the men and women panting on the ground near him and stumbling toward the final shooting range, "Eh. Is that all of the wilting flowers?"

His assistant took a quick count. "That's the last coming up the trail now."

"God is merciful!" Moshe proclaimed. Ten minutes later, Ziva was following him back along the path she had taken not long before. The jeep was not visible as they approached the barracks, nor was anyone awaiting them outside. "I think it's an ambush, David."

"Relax, Officer Yonath," she grinned as she emphasized his title, "I can protect you. Remember, I do technically outrank you."

"Not in front of the delicate little pixies." He paused at the door and shouted to the line of dusty, sweaty recruits, "You will have one hour to eat and rest. Then we're in for a fun afternoon and night of…well, I would just hate to run the surprise, my precious darlings!"

To her mild surprise, the large dining and living room was deserted. She grabbed a cup of water and an energy bar and took a seat at one of the two long tables. As per usual, the seats immediately around her were the last to fill with nervous, quiet recruits. They had stopped trying to make friends with her when they'd discovered she was there on what amounted to punishment and stopped trying to outclass her when they'd found they simply could not. The two men who had attempted to assault her in the shower the third day were still in the hospital.

She kept an eye on Moshe as he allowed his assistant to enter his office first. A moment later he exclaimed, "Director David! This is most unexpected." Ziva didn't rush to stand when everyone else snapped to attention.

"As you were." She was aware that the recruits began nudging each other the moment the man with tinges of gray finally infiltrating his dark hair stepped out of Moshe's office. "Dispense with the pleasantries, Yonath. How is the training proceeding?"

"I cannot decide if the recruits are a poor crop or just intimidated." Moshe grinned and spoke in a stage-whisper, "She hasn't lost a thing."

Although she appreciated the candor, she hoped he wasn't making things more difficult. It would be just like the Director to leave her here longer because she was exceeding his expectations and making him feel foolish, if only in his own mind. She could feel his eyes on her. "Officer David?"

She kept her eyes down as she stood and turned to face him. "Sir?"

"You have been deemed fit to return to duty." She was forced to cross the room to accept the file folder he extended to her. "Your assignment begins at once." She scanned the information rapidly and stoically. "Will there be a problem?"

"None at all, sir."

"Then come. Officer Yonath will have your things sent."

A silent hour later, she sat in one of the plush seats of the Director's private plane, feeling very out of place; she had not been given time to change, much less shower. Her feeling of discomfort increased when he was the only one to join her before the door was closed. He took two bottles of water from a small refrigerator before sitting across from her. "I must admit I am pleasantly surprised. Officer Bashan, of course, has kept me informed about your fitness and combat readiness, but…Moshe Yonath is not given to handing out undue acclaim. Nor, I suspect, are the doctors who treated the men you required to be evacuated. One, I'm told, will always walk with a limp." He handed her one of the bottles of water. "Good work."

"I'm glad I didn't disappoint you, sir."

"Ziva, there is no one else here. Drop the pretense."

"Force of habit, Father."

He sighed, but said nothing regarding her formality. He didn't speak again until after takeoff. "Do you have any questions about your assignment?"

"It seems quite clear. I know our operations in Europe and I know the teammates you've paired me with, both good men."

He waited until she had gulped down the contents of the small bottle to ask, "Were your teammates at NCIS good men?"

"Of course."

"Hm. And will you miss them?"

She blinked, seeing McGee's sad smile as he insisted on carrying her luggage into the airport for her, Gibbs' steely gaze following her down the concourse after making a guarantee that he would 'fix things,' and Tony… Tony had left for the _USS Ronald Reagan_ three days before she had returned home. Their goodbye had consumed an entire night that she would not be caught reliving in front of her father. She blinked again and met his expectant gaze. "Yes."

He nodded, but asked nothing further on the subject, although she knew he had his suspicions. He had seen the same photos she had been shown the previous year. It was likely he assumed he already knew all the relevant information, and as she was here and not there… He suddenly said in English, "It is a shame about Jen Shepard dying in a…firefight, was it?"

She swallowed hard, looking away. He knew. "Just a fire."

"A terrible tragedy," he continued, switching back to Hebrew. "This new Director Vance, can he be trusted?"

"No."

"Because he terminated your position?"

"Because he lies far to willingly. There is something…something off."

"I see. We will be more careful in our future dealings with NCIS." He sipped his water. "It does spring to mind that you have been choosing to trust some curious individuals since going to Washington. Agent Gibbs, for example"

She felt surprisingly calm in spite of the dread with which she had been anticipating this conversation for over two years. "Ari betrayed us. You have seen the proof. If Gibbs did not kill him…"

"You could have? You could have ended your brother's life?"

"Yes." She looked her father in the eye, feeling only a minimal compulsion to confess the truth. She refused to back down from his searching stare.

His gaze unexpectedly softened. "You are the stronger of us, then. But, back to what we were discussing. What about…Agent DiNozzo? There have been some _interesting_ developments concerning him in the past year. He was somewhat involved in a death? I know he did not pull the trigger, but his actions…you know what I am referring to?"

If he suspected Jen's death had been a cover-up, there was no way he wouldn't have a very clear picture of more pubic occurrences – public, at least, to the intelligence community. "La Grenouille?"

"Indeed. Although I cannot complain about his death, as Trent Kort has been quite an asset to us."

She slipped into English again, Tony's words coming out of her mouth, "Kort is a lying bastard."

"How can he lie when he does not know we are listening?" he replied in Hebrew with a wink. "But your Agent DiNozzo…"

"Tony was my partner. And my friend. I trust him with my life."

"Only your life?"

"Father…"

"I am only preparing you for the real interrogation that will happen tonight. Your mother is making dinner and has invited your aunt and uncle."

The abrupt switch from quasi-professional to strictly family caught her off guard. "I thought I was leaving immediately?"

"Tomorrow morning. She has been complaining all week that you were sent to the desert before she could feed you properly. She thinks you are too skinny."

Without performing a self-assessment, she asked, "Will you be there?"

"I have been encouraged to work late tonight. It is just as well, considering how famously Nettie and I get along."

Ziva smiled as she recalled the bizarre incident with the sufganiyot when she was sixteen that had effectively repealed the implied treaty of civility between her father and aunt that had existed since his marriage to her sister. He had spent many late nights at the office following _that_ night of Chanukah. Still, it was a good memory; Ziva could clearly picture Tali's expression of utter ecstasy when the pastries had started flying. She sighed. "Have my things been delivered from Washington yet?"

"Two days ago. I cannot guarantee their security."

"I'll arrange a storage locker if you don't have space in the basement."

"Space is not an issue, but I cannot prevent your mother…"

"You mean… What am I saying? You've probably been through it all already." She walked to the refrigerator and got another bottle of water, reflecting the situation was not at all what she had expected. They had barely spoken since she had gone to DC – in fact had been through an extended period when they had not spoken at all after she'd discovered his spying – and now they were on his plane, nearly joking. How odd. "Do you…" She lost the words she wanted and instead continued, "know how long my mission will last?"

"I do not. This cell is proving particularly elusive. It could take a few months." He reached across the narrow aisle and awkwardly patted her knee when she sat back down. "But you will have plenty of time to think about your duties beginning tomorrow. Tonight…enjoy your time with your family."

She felt a chill run through her body that had nothing to do with the cold water she sipped. "You expect that I'm going to die on this mission."

"No, but you know it would not shock me if…there are always casualties in war, Ziva. You have caused many, but never been one. I pray…"

"You don't pray," she interrupted.

"Then I hope this mission is as successful as all your others. When you…"

She interrupted again, "I've heard the speech before. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, and all that."

His expression was sad and serious. "Indeed."


	3. Lo, A Black Horse

McGee looked around the small, open office that was constantly full of the sound of keys clicking at a rapid rate. That was one of the things that was different. One of the things that was the same was…was…um…he was still on a four person team? He looked up and considered his teammates. They were… He still worked at NCIS, anyway.

Kind of. Technically. Nominally.

The job was so different now. He liked what he did and he liked his co-workers, but while he enjoyed it and it fully utilized his computer skills, he also found it tedious. He never would have thought immersion in his chosen field would be such a disappointment. Whenever he said something geeky, he was met with three appreciative giggles instead of sarcastic comments. Whenever he asked a question, he was given serious answers instead of blank stares. Whenever he gave an explanation, he got encouragement rather than orders to get to the point.

Whenever he clipped his holster to his belt, he got disbelieving looks rather than…no looks. No one ever would have suspected that Timothy McGee had a top-secret appetite for the adrenaline rush he got from approaching a suspect's home or making an arrest, but he couldn't deny it anymore. Or he couldn't deny it now that he realized it. It was certainly much easier to appreciate the command to grab one's gear when one's gear was abruptly changed from a SIG-Sauer and badge to a laptop.

McGee glanced around before lifting up his jacket slightly and looking down. His badge was still there, even if it didn't feel like it was. He cracked his neck and stood. "I'm gonna go get a coffee. Anyone else want one?"

"Oh, hold on." His fellow cyber-crimefighter Mary Hopkins looked up at him through her thick glasses. They weren't really that thick. In fact, they looked good on her. She was attractive. She most likely thought that paperclips were only good for organizational purposes. There wasn't going to be a Maria Hodgins in his next novel, but she was nice enough on her own. He sighed. He hadn't written a word in over a month; although he had admitted they were his character inspiration, he had not realized they were his muses as well. A quick look at the calendar confirmed that time was passing, if very slowly, and he was making creepy mental comparisons of Gibbs, Tony and Ziva to Beatrice and…

He blinked when fingers were snapped in front of his face. "Huh?"

"I guess you really do need that coffee, McGee. Would you mind dropping this off at the main building? Ever since Director Vance took over, that Sciuto woman has been asking for hard copies of _everything _we send through the forensics lab. This policy is just silly." McGee grinned, which Hopkins seemed to take as agreement. "Well, if you really wouldn't mind taking these files over…"

"Not at all. It's practically on my way."

"I owe you one, McGee." She touched his forearm gently before reddening and rushing back to her desk.

Tony's imagined voice asked out of nowhere, _Geek foreplay?_

McGee threw a glance over his shoulder as he exited the office. _Maybe. Jealous?_

_Yeah. I'm staring out at the Bay of Cádiz and so jealous of your nerd booty, Probie. You can McGoogle her all you want. _

McGee shook his head. Not good enough for the novel, but…he'd be thrilled to hear it for real. No one called him anything but McGee now. Things felt as normal as they could when walked into the lab and Abby assaulted him with a bear hug. "McGee! I haven't seen you since…"

"We had lunch yesterday, Abby," he reminded her, trying to balance his coffee and the file and Caf-Pow he'd brought her. The file lost, spilling onto to the floor as she continued her aggressive embrace, studded collar digging into him uncomfortably.

"But it isn't the same. We had to make plans and…and…" She pulled back, her hands remaining on his shoulders. "I'm glad you're here, McGee. I miss you guys just dropping in."

He glanced over at the Tony and Ziva mop-people that had been leaning against the wall for the past month. "You figured out a good way to get me to visit while making it look official."

"Yeah, I thought that was pretty good, blaming it on…" She paused and took a long sip of her Caf-Pow in preparation for the rant McGee knew was coming. "He swoops in and we didn't even have time to get through Director Shepard's death together before he just sent everyone away!"

"He didn't…" McGee hung his head. "Gibbs is still here. And me."

"But not like you were! Gibbs is busy with his new team and I think maybe Vance has them keeping tabs on him, because he almost never comes down here by himself. And when did you ever have to make excuses to come to the lab before?"

"I…" He couldn't even make the protest; she had been the one to make the excuse.

"And he couldn't even make it a little easier! I mean, he fired Cynthia! Cynthia! Because she couldn't pick a coffee table he liked!"

"He didn't actually fire her and she's working for the SecNav now." He smiled as he remembered a visit to the Pentagon two days before. "I saw her the other day and she seems like she's doing really well. Didn't I tell you about this at lunch?"

"Yes. Cynthia got engaged and thinks Vance is a jerk and she misses us and…I miss her, too." Abby pouted and took another jolt of Caf-Pow. "Oh! If it's new gossip you're looking for – I heard that Nikki Jardine asked to be transferred to Gibbs' team and Vance sent her to Sigonella instead! Her specialty is the Middle East, not Italy! If they needed an agent, why not send Tony there?" She sniffled. "How does he like Spain?"

"I think he'd like it better if circumstances were different." They both hung their heads, having seen the photos from the bombing that had killed the entire NCIS Rota team a little less than a week before. "Okay, not what you meant, but… He's gonna prove himself when he catches the bad guys and Vance is gonna look like an idiot for making him investigate petty thefts on a carrier for a month. We both know Tony is a good team leader…"

"Did we ever tell him that? Did we ever make him feel like that?"

"Abby…"

"And did we ever tell Ziva what a good investigator she was? Is? I wish we could talk to her. What if something bad happens to her? Will Moussad even bother to let us know?"

McGee allowed Abby to continue her lament as he grabbed the closest piece of paper and a pen. After five minutes, she poked him in the arm. "Tim, you aren't even listening to me. What are you writing?"

He looked up and smiled, reading, "Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa looked at each other and smiled. It had been two long months while the team had been separated, but the escape of the DC Strangler had required that they both return to NCIS for the duration of what promised to be a long case. Tibbs gave both affectionate slaps on the back of the head. 'Don't start thinking you'll get to stay if you catch this guy, because I can't give you anything but my personal guarantees.'

"Tommy rubbed the back of his head. 'That's enough for me, boss.'

"Lisa agreed, saying, 'If anyone can get the musical group back together, you can, Tibbs.'

"'Band,' Tommy corrected. McGregor sank into his old seat and smiled as Lisa gave Tommy a slap of her own. 'Don't smile at that, Probie.'" McGee looked at Abby expectantly. "Well?"

"DC Strangler?"

"I'll change that. I just mean the scenario, for a novel."

"It's not that great, Tim."

"Give me a break." He folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket. "I haven't written anything in a month."

She swung her shoulders back and forth as she took another long sip from her enormous cup. "I don't want a bad guy to get away just so we can have them back, but…is it wrong that I wouldn't be very upset if that's what really happened?"

He turned away, pretending that his throat clearing and soft coughing was a direct result of an overly large sip of coffee. He eventually walked over to the mops. "I really miss them."

"I know. So do I." She hugged him from behind. "Now when I spill something big, I have to go borrow Ducky's mop. He doesn't mind though. I came back from the bathroom the other day and he was having a conversation with Moppet Tony and Moppet Ziva while he waited for me."

"I thought he only did that with bodies."

"McGee!" She released him from her hug only to punch him in the shoulder.

"I didn't mean it like that." McGee stood looking at the mop-teammates for a moment longer. "I should probably get back before…" He sighed. No one was going to play a prank by uploading a virus onto his computer, which was probably the most creative thing anyone in his new unit would ever think to try, if they ever did think to try pranking him. "I should go."

Abby saluted him. "Have a good day, cyber-crimefighter!"

"I always do. It's just…"

She hugged him again before he could walk out. "I know, Tim. I know."


	4. Behold A Pale Horse

"What was that for?"

Gibbs ignored Palmer's reaction to the headslap. "Call me when you've got something, Duck."

As he headed out of Autopsy, he heard Ducky say, "You're the only one here he still does that to, Mr. Palmer. I encourage you to take it personally."

Gibbs stepped into the elevator, first glancing over his shoulder; Palmer had a big dopey grin on his face. He enjoyed a rare smile of his own as he rode upstairs, but it was replaced by a frown when he arrived in the bullpen. It had been three months since his three new team members had replaced Tony, McGee and Ziva, and the only legitimate complaint he had was that they were not Tony, McGee and Ziva.

O'Brien, Kaplan and Lombardi were competent, hardworking, willing to obey orders and eager to please. They worked as a team and they assisted each other when the situation demanded it. They were also ambitious and competitive. And they didn't like each other. They just tolerated each other. That was the biggest problem. Or difference, rather. Only an idiot would be mad that his team was professional, but nothing more.

Gibbs sat at his desk after nodding in acknowledgment of each new agent's polite, "Agent Gibbs." They'd all given McGee funny looks when he'd walked into the bullpen a week after the change to pick up a book he'd 'forgotten' and called Gibbs 'boss.'

He sighed. You couldn't force them to be friends and you couldn't order them to be more familiar with you. His glance flicked up to the empty catwalk. And you couldn't complain.

He had seriously contemplated quitting again – or just retiring permanently – until he'd found a good reason to stay when an unexpected phone call had come in over a month ago. Speaking of which… He answered his cell phone without checking the caller ID first. "Gibbs."

"Safe to talk?"

"I'll be down in a few minutes, Abby." He snapped the phone shut and walked out of the bullpen, waving his new team members back into their seats. They had stopped following him everywhere after the first six weeks, either because Vance had decided he wasn't plotting a coup or because they'd gotten bored.

The elevator was just as good a place to converse as ever. Abby had run a bug check to make sure for him. He hit the emergency stop and returned the call he had just received. The line connected before the second ring. "Gibbs."

"You know what time it is, don't you?"

Ziva laughed. "I've got _plans_ later tonight. I didn't think I would be able to call when I was fairly certain you would be at home. Have you heard anything?"

"Latest reports put them in Léon."

"Spain or France?"

"When did France get involved?"

"Who said anything about it? I was just questioning your accent. Spain, then?"

"Yeah. Where are you?"

She sighed loudly enough for him to hear. "You know I cannot tell you that."

"Ziva, you're chasing the same people and NCIS has a special interest in apprehending the bastards."

"And bringing them to trial?"

"Well…"

"Exactly why it is better for Moussad to handle it. I hate to say it, Gibbs, but all of our evidence indicates that the team that was killed allowed themselves to be set up far too easily. I will not let that happen again."

"You and I both know he won't allow it to."

"True, but…I would rather have them out of our way."

"They wouldn't be in your way if you hooked up."

"I…I have already discussed it with our director, and we have been ordered not to initiate contact. We…" Her voice became distant for a moment as she shouted something in Hebrew. "Sorry. We are authorized to offer collaboration if accidental contact occurs. I would just like some advance warning if such contact is going to occur."

"I take it you aren't worried about it at the moment."

"They are several steps behind if they are still in León. Are you…are you in contact with him?"

"The answer is still no. I know he talks to McGee and Abby occasionally. He thinks I blame him." Gibbs rubbed his forehead. "Remind him I don't if you see him."

"It is highly unlikely…"

"You wouldn't keep calling to check up if you didn't want…"

"I am doing my job, Gibbs. I need to know where our allies are as well as our enemies so nothing unfortunate occurs. How do you think I would feel if we fired on NCIS inadvertently?"

"Probably about as bad as he'd feel if he ends up shooting at you."

"There is no need to worry about…" He waited as she had another conversation on her end. "I'm sorry. I have to…"

"Yeah, wouldn't want to screw up your _plans_. Stay safe, Ziva."

"You as well. Shalom."

He leaned against the elevator wall, phone grasped loosely in his hand. He wasn't sure how his relationship with Ziva had devolved into covert conversations with him sharing classified information, but he had to believe it was all for the best.

Abby was chattering when he walked into the lab, "…but I told him that I was not that kind of girl, which he only believed when I showed him the taser. I'm so glad you let me keep that!" She suddenly turned and saw him. "Gibbs! I should have known you'd be eavesdropping on my conversations with Moppet Ziva." She picked up the mock-up and moved to stand against the wall beside a similar figure representing Tony.

"Not healthy for you to be talking to them so often."

"Oh, I don't talk to Moppet Tony that much anymore. I get to talk to real Tony at least once a week since Director Vance decided that the Rota team's evidence on this terrorist cell should all be verified through my lab. Ziva, on the other hand… I probably am talking to Moppet Ziva too much. I wish she'd call."

Gibbs held his tongue, on one issue anyway. "Next time you talk to DiNozzo, tell him he's several steps behind. And that he may need to expand into France."

"Gibbs, how do you…"

"Never mind, just let him know. Now, do you have anything on the Pratt case?"

"I would have called you if I did. I'm still waiting for the computer to…hey!" She spun as an alert sounded. "Have we talked about your magical, spooky timing, Gibbs?"

"Yup." He wondered if the fact that Abby had suddenly come up with relevant evidence meant that he was making the right choice. He wouldn't have to make up a lie to tell his new team, at any rate. "And?"

"Fingerprints! We've got a hit! Ooh, he looks like a bad guy."

"Send it upstairs."

"Done. Oh, I should have held that hostage until you told me how you know that Tony is…"

"Stop, Abby. Just give him the message and let me know where he ends up."

"Why?"

"To keep him safe."

Her eyes went wide. "Someone is after Tony?"

"No, just trying to avoid him." He wasn't sure that she understood everything from his look, but he was sure that she understood enough to trust him. "Make sure you tell me where he is when you find out."

She seemed to fight off her worry and saluted. "Consider it done."

He kissed her cheek and went back to the elevator. He had a strange feeling, like he was being pushed and pulled at once and the only forces were coming from somewhere in his own body. Together and separate were blurring. He no longer had a gut instinct telling him what was best for his team.

In the bullpen, Lombardi and Kaplan were arguing over the possible motives of the man whose fingerprints had been found on the weapon left at their latest crime scene. He wished he could sweep it all away. A temporary solution was all he could come up with. "Go pick him up."

"Agent Gibbs?"

He pointed at their shocked faces. "You and you. Go get him."

"You…aren't coming?"

"If you don't think you can manage a simple arrest, I'm sure O'Brien would be happy to go instead."

"I would, Agent Gibbs," O'Brien said, standing quickly.

"Don't bother," Kaplan rejoined. "We're on our way."

Gibbs waited until he was certain Lombardi and Kaplan would be gone before walking to the elevator without telling O'Brien where he was headed. Coffee. Maybe coffee would make him feel better.


	5. Under the Altar

Tony pointed to the positions he wanted his team to assume as they moved down the long hallway of the deserted school. Voices speaking a foreign language became clearer as they approached the flickering beam of a flashlight coming through the last door. He didn't recognize the voices, not really, but there was something familiar about one of them. He took a step forward, holding his SIG at the ready and hoping he shouldn't have opted for one of the two M-16s being carried by his team members.

A protracted laugh told him he didn't need to worry. He held up his fist in the stop signal and called out, "Ziva?"

The pause stretched and he wondered if he should have identified himself. He had expected her to recognize his voice, but… "Tony?"

"Stand down, guys." He smiled as she stepped out of a door twenty yards away, UZI pointed at the floor. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight coming through the windows. Shots suddenly rang out. His heart nearly stopped as she crashed back against the doorframe. He slammed Allen against the wall, ripping the SIG from his probie's hand. "When I tell you to stand down, you fucking _do it_! Understand?" He didn't get a chance to hear or see Allen's reaction as he sprinted up the hallway to check on Ziva.

She shouted as a man barreled out of the door, UZI at the ready, "Isaac, don't. It was an accident."

Tony held up his hands, appreciating the stupidity of the gesture when he realized he was gripping two pistols. "NCIS, US agents."

The man, Isaac, reluctantly lowered his weapon and walked back through the door when Ziva gave him an order in Hebrew. She was sitting up, leaning against the doorframe by the time Tony knelt at her side. "I have never been so glad they train to aim for the center of mass." She groaned as he poked one of the bullets embedded in her vest just below her breasts. "Stop that. We were not expecting you."

"Why would you be?"

She raised an eyebrow, but offered no explanation, accepting his hand and allowing him to pull her off the floor. "How have you been?"

"You want to stand around catching up?"

"Kind of. Congratulations on your promotion, anyway." She grinned almost shyly and looked away. Tony remembered the last time they'd been together… Well, they'd been together to the point of not needing any clothing. As he followed her into the classroom, he realized he couldn't really begrudge the thirty layers of Kevlar that had just saved her life, even if some of her curves were concealed. He appreciated the view for a moment when she leaned over to inspect…

He stopped ogling her ass as he found something slightly more interesting. Or concerning, anyway. "That's a bomb."

"Yes."

He glanced at his three team members, standing by the door and looking tense. "Are we worried about the fact that there's a bomb in a school?"

"Isaac has disarmed it," Ziva replied. "Unfortunately, there is also a small charge on the timer that is proving more…"

"Got it!" Isaac said, holding up a small piece of something in triumph.

"Time to go." She grabbed one handle of the case of explosives while Isaac took the other. They moved toward the door.

"Wait, that's it? You're just gonna take that and go?"

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "You are welcome to come with us. We have a safe house."

"Hold on, why are you here? I mean, disarming and stealing the bad guys' bomb, yeah, but…"

"Should we leave it so they can come get it when it does not detonate?"

Tony ignored Isaac's sarcasm. "Ziva, are we after the same…" The rest of his question was lost when she dragged him to the floor in response to an explosion outside. He pulled away from her and crawled across the floor to his team. "You guys okay? Morgan, Haley, Allen?"

Ziva was speaking in his ear just as they were confirming their safety, "Which door did you come in?"

"The front."

"We were worried they may have left men watching the doors. They must have seen you. Come on."

"Our car…"

"What the fuck do you think just blew up, boss?" Morgan hissed.

Ziva rose to a crouch and peered around the corner into the hallway. "Right, they'll be here any moment. You two, with the M-16s, cover our rear. Tony, you and…" she pointed at Allen, "you, carry the explosives. Isaac, on point with me."

Tony grabbed one of the handles on the heavy case with no complaint. There was a time to argue about who would take the lead, but this was definitely not it. Maybe later. His eyes were again drawn to Ziva's ass as she led them down a dark, narrow staircase. Had it really been four months since they'd…? He didn't have time to be distracted by his very clear and happy memories, as they were moving through rows of stacked boxes in the concrete basement when voices began to carry toward them. The pace increased until they reached a solid wall.

Morgan griped softly, "This was their fucking plan? Trap ourselves in the basement?"

Tony was about to agree when Isaac disappeared through a small open grate in the floor. Ziva motioned for Tony and Allen to follow. He went first, taking on the full weight of the bomb when it was passed down to him. "Ugh."

"Here." Isaac took a handle and began to walk.

"Shouldn't we wait for…?"

"They're coming. And I'm sure Ziva is leaving a surprise for anyone who tries to follow."

"Right." When they had moved what seemed like a sufficient distance through the tunnel not to be overheard, Tony chanced to ask, "Where are we?"

"Storm drain. Runs from the street under the school to a culvert in back of the soccer field."

"Where _we_ left our car," Ziva added, squeezing past him to take her position at the front of the parade. "We should have advance warning if they try to follow us."

Tony squinted, not sure if there was a light somewhere ahead of them at the end of the tunnel. "This is how you two got into the school?"

"Of course."

"And how did you know…?

"Tony, I'll explain later." She stumbled slightly as she looked over her shoulder to meet his eyes. "I promise."

Five minutes later, they emerged in a gully. Ziva said something that sounded kind of like 'surfing goat' and an engine roared to life. She scrambled up the embankment to open the rear gate of an SUV just as a loud crash echoed through the drainage tunnel. "Sounds like they tried to follow us. Isaac, in the back with the bomb. You three," she pointed to his team as she removed her vest, "backseat. Tony…" he could hear the eye-roll in her voice, "shotgun."

He didn't think to ask her where she was planning to sit until she climbed into his lap and ordered the driver to go. "Uh…"

She twisted her hips, grinding her ass into his groin as she turned to get a view of the entire car. "Right, since we are the only two people who know each other, we should have some introductions. Officer Isaac Fehr is in back and Officer Tal Levi is driving." He twisted his head around as best he could as she extended her hand to the back. "And I am Officer Ziva David."

"Yeah, that's nice. And who the fuck _are_ you people?"

Tony had to smile at Morgan's usual directness. "They're Moussad. I take it that you probably already know everyone's names, but…Agent Ray Morgan, Agent Sarah Haley and Agent Kevin Allen. He's the probie."

Allen shook Ziva's hand weakly. "Sorry I shot you."

"Don't do it again, Probie, or you'll get a much different reaction." Tony squirmed as Ziva shifted into what he could only assume was a more comfortable position; it certainly wasn't doing him any good. He fastened his arm tightly around her waist to stop her from bouncing so much. "So where are we going?"

"Our safe house is about an hour from here."

"And why are you…"

"We will talk about it when we get there."

The ride over sometimes bumpy roads felt much longer than an hour with her in his lap. He was about to go insane with her scent in his nose and hair on his cheek and arm around his neck and… Why was he sorry when she opened the door and jumped out of his lap? He followed and looked at the ramshackle farmhouse where they had arrived. "Nice. I take it post-war Tara wasn't available?"

"We are in France, not Georgia."

He chuckled. "Next you're gonna tell me you know that from reading the novel, right?"

"Actually, we watched the movie together." She paused after stepping through the door to punch a code into a keypad that looked out of place until the lights came on, revealing a surprisingly modern kitchen. "I will brief you and your team while Isaac and Tal secure the explosives. There are drinks and food in the refrigerator and cabinets if you want them." She disappeared down a hallway.

Morgan interpreted Tony's look correctly, saying, "We'll meet you in a minute, boss."

He trailed after her, walking into what appeared to be a cross between a living room and command center. Ziva was standing between a sofa and a bank of computers, watching him seriously as he approached. He tried to lighten the mood, "I'm shocked we're allowed in here. We'll see everything! We'll see the big board!"

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me?"

He grin faded as he realized his joke had fallen flat. "No, I…"

"Because we can't fight in here; this is the war room!" She smiled and stepped toward him. Her arms wrapped around him proved more of a surprise than her _Dr. Strangelove_ rejoinder. He returned her embrace, trying to hold her tight enough to stop her from ever getting away. Her lips brushed against his ear as she whispered, "I missed you."

His hand moved up her back to tangle itself in her hair. Their noses brushed. "I missed you, too."

Haley cleared her throat from the doorway at the critical moment. "So, we're getting a briefing, then?"

Ziva pulled away, moving toward one of the computers and calling up some pictures that she began to flash through as she talked once Tony's team had seated themselves. "It's a large cell, with as many as fifteen members. They are down to eleven, possibly fewer depending on what happened with the charge that went off when they tried to open the grate to follow us tonight. We thought they were al-Qaeda when we began tracking them four months ago. At the time, they appeared to be targeting smaller Spanish cities, always bombing very close to a synagogue. It wasn't until the attack outside Cádiz that killed Lt. Starr that the pattern broke."

"How do you know about…?" Tony cut off Haley's question with a gesture and waved Ziva to continue.

"And since the Cádiz attack, the only common link has been that the attacks have taken place in small, somewhat out of the way places. What we do know for sure is that they strike every three weeks. We do not know how they are picking their targets or where they are getting their explosives. It is strange, almost like they are…testing them. There has been something different about each bomb."

"They are rehearsing," Isaac said, securing his UZI in a rack set up along the wall as he entered the room.

Ziva nodded, agreeing with his remark. "That is our assumption. They are planning something on a large-scale, but we do not yet have any idea what it is. Our efforts to capture a member of the cell for interrogation have resulted in suicides. Whoever they are, they do not want to risk exposing themselves or their operations."

"Why three weeks between attacks?" Morgan asked.

"We suspect it is a supply chain issue. We've yet to have any success tracking them until they select the target, and even then… Tonight they may have been intentionally sloppy in an attempt to catch us to get us off their trail. Instead they saw you, perhaps mistook you for us and… Tony, you should contact Vance and get him to authorize collaboration. Tal, can you set up a call to MTAC?"

He jumped off the sideboard he was sitting on and made his way to the computers. "Who?"

"NCIS. Secure channel to their director. I will make the call to Moussad. Where's the satphone?"

Vance's face appeared scowling from MTAC on a wall-mounted plasma screen a few minutes after she left the room. "Why the hell are you calling us through Moussad, DiNozzo?"

"We, uh, bumped into them while following up a tip, sir. It turns out we're after the same people and they've offered to work with us."

"Are we talking about the same Moussad here? Israeli Moussad? You're telling me that they're including us on the guest list for their party?" Vance turned when a murmur on his end was audible. "Hold on, they're calling us direct from Tel Aviv now."

Tony felt a nudge and looked to his right. Ziva was now standing shoulder to shoulder with him. Vance shifted his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other when he looked at the screen again. "Officer David. Well, that explains a lot."

"Director Vance, I think…"

He cut her off, "You two wait while we sort this out."

The screen abruptly switched to a split image of Vance and a man who looked like Tony should have recognized him. Tal whispered, "Vance can't hear or see you, but Director David can."

Tony covered his mouth with his hand and whispered, "That's your dad?" When she nodded almost imperceptibly, he turned his attention to the screen. She looked like him.

They remained silent while the two men hammered out the details of the mission, most of which amounted to a power struggle. There were no surprises when Vance was looking at them from the screen again. "All right, DiNozzo, you get your wish. This is now a joint op between NCIS and Moussad, all information to be shared equally. I want regular updates. And Moussad has the lead," he spat in conclusion.

"Yes, sir. Will…" Vance's image disappeared, replaced by a full-screen of Director David. "Oh."

He tilted his head. "Agent DiNozzo. I trust you and your team are up to this mission."

"Yes. Yes, we are, sir."

"Good. And I trust I do not have to remind _you_ about keeping us updated, Officer David?"

"No, sir," Ziva replied tersely.

"Shalom." His image disappeared just as abruptly as Vance's had.

Tony could see Ziva's shoulders fall as she exhaled before turning to announce to the room, "I think we have all had a long day. There are enough bedrooms upstairs for all of you. If you need anything…there should be clothes, linens, everything. I need a shower."

Tony stood still for a moment, unsure of whether he should take the opportunity to talk with his team or just follow Ziva. He ignored his first impulse and looked at Morgan, Haley and Allen, lined up on the sofa. "Right, team. So, like she said, we've had a long day. Get some sleep, get comfortable and, uh, we'll start fresh in the morning."

"Sounds good, boss," Morgan said. "I'm gonna get me some fucking grub. What d'ya say, Probie? I saw you looking at those steaks in the fridge."

Haley didn't follow the two men toward the kitchen, hanging by the door. She didn't say anything until Tony tried to walk past. "How well do you know Officer David, DiNozzo?"

He appraised her with a critical eye. "She was my partner in DC for three years."

"She worked for NCIS?"

"Yeah. Hence the whole 'partner for three years' thing I mentioned."

"We can trust her?"

"Haley, would we have gotten in the car with them if I didn't think we could? They're our allies and…" He paused as he realized he should be angry about the fact that Ziva had apparently know what he and his team were doing but didn't make contact. "Look, Vance approved this collaboration. You're just gonna have to trust my judgment on this one, and I trust Ziva with my life."

"Sorry, boss. Didn't realize you would take it so personally."

"Go eat with Morgan and Allen."

"I'm not hungry."

He waited until he heard a door slam before following Haley upstairs. The sound had come from further away, so he knocked on the closed door nearest the stairs. "Ziva?" When there was no response, he opened it on an empty bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was modern and well kept, belying the building's exterior. It also smelled familiar. He shut the door behind him, advancing toward a second closed door across the room when he recognized the shirt Ziva had been wearing on the floor outside it. He knocked loud enough to be heard over the running water. "Ziva…"

"Come in, Tony."

She was standing in front of the mirror, still wearing everything but her discarded shirt as she inspected the bruises on her torso.

He swallowed, wondering if…no, she'd known he would follow her. She'd probably still be wearing her shirt if she hadn't been expecting him. He reached out and touched a red scar on her side, right at the waistline of her cargo pants. "That's new."

"Shrapnel. We have been too late on several occasions."

He spread his fingertips until his palm was resting against her skin. He repeated his earlier sentiment, "I missed you."

She responded in kind, "I missed you, too." He wasn't sure, but she seemed to be leaning into his touch.

"We made a mistake."

The pressure on his palm quickly decreased. "I take it you are not referring to the mission."

"Well…" His thought from several minutes earlier resurfaced. "You were keeping tabs on us. Why didn't you just call or something?"

"I thought my information was accurate and that you were… Tony, the truth is we were…_I_ was trying to protect you. I assumed that I would have enough advance warning to speak with you before you showed up at the same scene we did. Clearly, I was thinking in reverse of what did happen." She gingerly touched the bruises caused by Allen's quick trigger before turning to face him. "I wanted to speak to you. And not just about this mission. Do you really think it was a mistake?"

"Only in the sense that we didn't have enough time. If I'd known…" He struggled to put his feelings about the night they were discussing without mentioning into words. "I would have…I wouldn't have kept you at arm's length. I would have done so many things differently."

"And if we had not waited? What if we _had_ done things differently and… Tony, I have many regrets, some of which involve our relationship, but I do not intend on allowing them to influence what happens now."

He rested his hands on her waist as she stepped into him and began to unbutton his shirt. "Ziva…"

"I think the water has warmed up."

* * *

They had twice moved to a different safe house, but the sleeping arrangements had remained consistent. Tony opened his eyes slowly and savored the feeling of waking up beside Ziva, just as he had every time he'd woken in the past three weeks. She was facing away from him, but her body was pressed against his side. He rolled and slipped his arm around her waist, spooning her. Strange how, even after a stunningly successful mission less than six hours ago, this was the most exciting thing he could imagine.

He nuzzled the back of her neck where her curls were still damp from the shower she'd taken not long before. She had almost been asleep on her feet at that point, allowing Tony to wash her hair and body before tucking her into bed. He was surprised that he felt so refreshed after so little sleep, but he supposed she'd been in greater sleep debt. She sighed in her sleep as he maintained contact, occasionally kissing the bare skin of her shoulder. After a few minutes, she mumbled, "Tony…not now."

"What makes you think…?"

"This." He arched into her gentle grasp. "I need more sleep first."

"Can't imagine why. You've only been awake for seventy-two hours straight."

"Ungh. I think it could have gone better."

He blinked to clear the unpleasant images from his mind. "Don't think about it now. Just go back to sleep."

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

Prompted by her unusual display of sentiment, he turned her face and kissed her. "Of course. But, uh, you won't mind if I go grab a bottle of water or something right now? Thirsty. Want anything?"

"No." She yawned and didn't react when he slipped out of bed. She was snoring by the time he'd pulled on a loose pair of jogging pants. He closed the door softly behind himself and made his way toward the kitchen. This house wasn't as big or nice as the first safe house they'd been to, but it was a definite improvement over the last one. He was fine with walking around barefoot, for example.

He paused at the kitchen door as he overheard Morgan and Haley talking.

"What? You want to mutiny? Good luck. They're fucking Moussad!"

"No, the boss is fucking Moussad."

"Can't say I blame him. I'd hit that if I got the chance. Think she'd say no to a threesome?"

"You're a pervert, Ray."

"Whatever. You're just jealous 'cuz he's never looked at you the way he looks at her."

"What? You're being ridiculous."

"So I'm imagining all those longing stares and nasty looks you're giving the boss whenever he's paying attention to Officer David? Admit it, you've had a thing for him since we got to Rota."

"I have not! He happens to be a good team leader and I admire him for that."

"You just have a thing for authority figures. Don't forget that we were in the same fucking FLETC class and I saw you making goo-goo eyes at every male instructor under the age of forty!"

Haley was shouting now. "I don't have any romantic interest in Agent DiNozzo! I just think…how can his relationship with that Moussad woman not affect this mission?"

Deciding he'd heard enough, Tony stepped into the room. "Do you think it affected what happened today?"

Haley looked terrified as Morgan asked, "How long you been listening, boss?"

"Long enough. I would like an answer to my question. Haley, do you think my relationship with Officer David had an effect on what happened today?"

"Well, I…we…"

Morgan interjected, "We shot five of the bad guys and stole their bomb before they could kill innocent…French people?"

"We're back in Spain, Ray."

"Wherever the fuck we are, boss, I think it went well."

"Haley? Anything to add?"

"We…we should have tried to take at least one of them alive," she protested weakly.

"The two we didn't kill killed themselves before we could stop them." Tony crossed his arms over his bare chest, wishing he'd thought to put a shirt on. His position didn't seem to be in question, but you always had more respect when you were wearing a shirt. "Is there anything else?"

"Nothing."

"You're a crappy liar, Morgan. Haley? Something you'd like to say?"

She looked at Morgan, but he pointedly refused to meet her gaze. "We just…" When he cleared his throat she amended, "I just don't like that the two people in charge might have a reason to prolong this mission unnecessarily."

"But she's just saying that because she's tired, boss," Morgan added. "Y'know, lack of sleep does some fucking crazy shit to your head. Sarah's gonna go to bed and feel really stupid about this whole conversation when she wakes up. Right?"

She nodded slowly and Tony considered her. After an extended silence, he said, "If you don't, I want you to come talk to me. This is hard and we have to stick together, as a team. I know you guys don't have the same reasons I do to trust Ziva, but…we need to stick together," he repeated.

A few forced pleasantries later, he walked back upstairs slowly, sipping from his bottle of water. He spent the next two hours in bed, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and thinking. He had yet to formulate a clear line of conversation when Ziva rolled over, throwing a leg and an arm over him. She kissed him deeply without saying a word, but quickly pulled back. "I am going to brush my teeth." When she returned, she immediately climbed on top of him, pushing the covers back.

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy her kisses on his chest and neck before asking, "What happens to us when this is over?"

"You usually fall asleep," she replied, nipping his collarbone.

"I didn't…will you stop that?"

She looked up. "What?"

"What? This mission. You and me. It isn't going to be like this forever. And I…" He felt himself going slightly off the rails. "Did I tell you about my dream?"

"What dream?"

He smiled, closing his eyes. "It was a recurring dream, started right after I got aboard the _Gipper_. In my dream, I'd wake up in this bright white room, like in the cleanest island resort you've ever seen. White walls, white furniture, white curtains billowing in the windows, white linens… And I'd turn my head and you'd be there. Sometimes you'd be asleep with your head on my shoulder and sometimes you'd be awake, smiling at me. And always, right before I could kiss you or say something to you, I'd wake up for real, alone in a skinny bunk and everything would be gray steel."

He could feel her relax slightly and tuck her head under his chin as she slipped her arms behind his neck. "I never dreamed about you. I thought about you a lot, but… Why do you want to talk about what will happen after this mission ends?"

"Because I don't want this to end, too."

Her hold on him tightened. "Your team will still be in Rota. It is likely that I will still be working operations in Western Europe. We can see each other."

"But…we won't…we won't be together. Not like this, anyway."

When he opened his eyes, she had positioned her face directly over his. "Am I still asleep, or is Anthony DiNozzo asking for commitment?"

"I don't know." He said only one of the three words he meant, but she seemed to understand.


	6. A Great Earthquake

Abby careened across the lab in her chair, trying to see how quickly she could make it through her obstacle course while she waited for Tony to call. She had tried sitting still after she'd talked to McGee ten minutes ago, but the anticipation was just too great. She only got to talk to Tony once a week and he'd promised to make sure Ziva was around this time to say hi. Abby was looking forward to confronting both of them with her insider information. She made a slow loop around Moppet Tony and Moppet Ziva. "Hope I can still trust the two of _you_ not to get up to any shenanigans when the lights go out in the lab at night." She stood to adjust the new wig she'd given Moppet Tony. "You're so right, Moppet Ziva – never trust a man with a rainbow clown afro."

She dropped back into her chair and shoved off with her feet as the phone rang, crashing into her central workstation. She still managed to snatch it out of its cradle on the second ring. "Tony, you were supposed to use the video link so I could…"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss Sciuto, but I'm afraid this isn't DiNozzo."

She stopped dead in mid-chair-twirl, one arm trapped awkwardly by the twisted phone cord. "Director! Sorry. I was just expecting a call from Tony to discuss his case and, um…"

"Have you had any breakthroughs?"

"Well…" She thought about what Gibbs had told her as she disentangled herself. "No."

"You don't sound too sure of yourself."

"I was just thinking of the uptick in chatter, but _everyone_ knows about that by now. McGee said he hasn't had any luck decrypting the encrypted data we've intercepted, which is why they encrypt things, so…sorry, sir."

Vance sighed loudly. "If the pattern holds he should have another week to figure it out. Make sure you keep me informed."

The dial tone sounded in her ear. "Guess you don't want to hear about the freaky new explosives that produced the residue I couldn't identify."

"We, uh, already know about those, Abs."

She looked up and saw Tony looking at her curiously from the computer screen. "Tony! You're right on time! Is Ziva with you?"

"She's just getting something to drink. And Vance probably knows about the explosives, because I'm pretty sure we mentioned it to him during one of our briefings. Might be why he hasn't been bugging you about it, I'd guess."

"Oh. Well."

"Do you actually have anything for us?"

"McGee should be here soon. He's still working on the data but he didn't sound very optimistic, which…Hey! He should be more of an optimist, because his name is right in the word!" Ziva suddenly appeared in the frame and Abby squealed, "Ziva! I haven't seen you in forever! How are you? You look great!"

"It is good to see you too, Abby. Anything new?"

"Not about the case, but I'm planning to get a new tat over the weekend. What about with you guys?"

They both shrugged and Tony laughed. "Oh, just killing time until we know what happens next. You know how it is."

"Do I?" She decided that now was as good a time as ever to see if her old bowling buddy had just been pulling her leg. "Well…aren't you two sitting close!"

Tony nodded slowly. "It's so you can see both of us. You better call McGee and tell him to bring you another Caf-Pow."

She refused to be distracted, not even by the delicious, sugary rush of cold…no! She noted that they hadn't moved apart at all and continued, "So I heard a rumor from a very reliable source that you two have decided rule number twelve doesn't apply in Europe."

Tony's eyes began darting every which way. "Uh…well…"

Ziva rolled hers. "Moussad does not follow the same rules that Gibbs does."

"Awwwww! Then it's true!"

Tony balked. "I…we…who told you?"

"A lady never tells! Now, is this just a thing that's happening because you got bored between stealing bombs from terrorists or something that's going to end in picket fences and babies?" She made the decision before either could reply coherently and ordered, "Do something cute and couple-y!"

"Such as?" Ziva asked.

"A kiss or canoodle or something! I wanna see some precious memories!"

"Abby, we're not gonna…" he stopped, face brightening as Ziva kissed his cheek.

Abby realized that it was further along than she'd thought – and that they were just going to keep grinning at each other until she interrupted. "Okay, enough proof for me. And maybe you're a little too cute. Ray didn't mention the staring, although I probably should have expected…"

"Morgan!" Tony exclaimed. "Oh, he is gonna get it! Wait, when did you bowl with him?"

"Oh, he was on one of our archrivals in the league when he worked for ATF before joining the forces of good. The nuns and I used to kick and bless his ass every Tuesday night! Well, I was more of the muscle and they just sort of did that looking to the heavens thing they do that freaks people out because…"

"You really need to put those mop people away, Abby," McGee said, walking into the room and handing her a Caf-Pow.

"No, I've got the real things this time!" She allowed him to say hello before asking, "Do you have the stuff?"

"I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough. I designed a new program with a rotating…"

"Unless the next words are chicken on a rotisserie, skip it, McGee," Tony said.

"Oh. Well, Hopkins is running the program. So far it seems to be working, but the thing we decrypted doesn't make a lot of sense, even after…"

"Probie!"

"Sorry. The thing is I've got something, but, like I said it doesn't seem to make sense. I checked it against everything I could think of and the only thing it could be is 'Awarded 1-9-9-2,' and 'awarded' was in Catalonian."

"You mean Catalan?" Ziva asked.

"Catamarans have their own language?"

"Catalan, Tony. It is spoken in eastern Spain, like in… McGee, did you say 1992?"

"Um…yes."

"The next attack is in Barcelona."

Tony was the first to speak. "Okay, I know you have super ninja languages among your many, many skills, but how did you get that one?"

"Oh, she's allowed to explain but I…"

"McGee, your explanations take a long time to say nothing. Ziva, on the other hand, is walking away." He called to her as she disappeared from the frame. "Where are you going?" Her reply was indecipherable, but he nodded. "Okay, nice to talk to you guys, but apparently we have to rally the troops and move, or something. Call if you figure out anything else."

"Wait, Tony…" Abby pouted as the connection was terminated. "Awww. You better find something so we can call back and chat some more with them!"

"Ow." McGee rubbed the spot on his arm where she hadn't punched him all that hard. "Is it me or did something seem weird about them?"

"They're in love, Timmy! I think I have to demote you to second place." She rapidly rewound the recording of the call that had just taken place and selected the image she wanted.

"In what?"

"Look! They're even cuter than you and Jethro."

"You better be talking about the dog, Abs."

"Of course, Gibbs," she reassured as he entered the lab. She hit print and walked over to retrieve the still she had picked. "I was just telling McGee that he's no longer part of the cutest couple at NCIS." She proudly held up the image of Tony and Ziva smiling at each other right after she'd kissed him, faces very close. "It was either this one or the one where he realized what was happening and his face lit up like a little kid on Christmas morning, but," she flipped the picture around to view it again herself, "in this one they both look so happy." She sighed contentedly. "I wouldn't have really considered it, but they do make a nice couple. I hope they don't end up killing each other."

"Goal of any relationship, Abs," Gibbs said. "Now, the Bloom case?"

"Can wait, Jethro," Vance said, walking into the lab. "McGee, why aren't you working on the…"

"Hold on, sir." McGee stepped into Abby's office as he answered his phone.

"He was over here to tell Tony and Ziva something he did figure out, and then Ziva told us that the next attack will happen in Barcelona based on that and…"

"On what did Officer David base this decision?"

"Something about 1992 and the language the…oh! The Olympics! I totally should have gotten that one. McGee!" she shouted as he reentered the lab. "Why didn't we figure that one out?"

McGee seemed a little shell-shocked. "Um, that was Mary, um, Agent Hopkins, I mean. She, um, got a date from the data."

"By all means, keep us in suspense, McGee."

"Sorry, Director, it's just that…it looks like the attack is happening today."

Abby coughed on her Caf-Pow as Vance walked up to McGee and seized him by the shoulders. "What do you mean today? It's only been two weeks since…"

"Agent Hopkins said she checked the data three times and ran it by the whole unit. It's today."

"Shit." Vance sprinted out of the lab, shouting over his shoulder, "Call David and DiNozzo back and tell them!"

Abby carefully taped the picture of Tony and Ziva to her workstation. "And here I was hoping they'd be happy to see us again so soon."


	7. Silence in Heaven

_Tony didn't argue when Ziva pulled him out of the driver's seat and shoved him toward the other side of the car. She was the best choice if they had to get there fast. And they did. _

_During the three-hour drive, they made calls to every agency and police organization they could think of. Her best contact at Interpol kept telling them a clearer threat was needed before they could think of issuing an order to evacuate a city of more than one million inhabitants. His voice crackled over the speakerphone, "I just can't make it happen, Ziva. You don't even know where in the city this attack is supposed to take place!"_

"_Simon, if you will just listen!"_

"_We know about the chatter, and we know that NCIS and Moussad are convinced there's going to be an attack, but there just isn't enough information. You know I trust you, but I can't go to the higher-ups and tell them I have a friend who's convinced something bad but vague will happen today! Call me the second you get anything more definitive, but until then…I'm sorry."_

"_You are not the only one, Simon." _

_Tony pressed end when she nodded. "Who else can we try?"_

"_I am open to suggestions, considering Simon was the only one who did not laugh at us or tell us not to pull pranks."_

"_I could try McGee again, see if they've got anything more."_

"_McGee would have called us."_

"_I know." He rested his hand on her leg, just above her knee, feeling the tension she was maintaining on the accelerator. "What are we going to do when we get to Barcelona? I mean, if we don't have more information are we just going to drive around until something blows up?"_

_She didn't answer, but increased the vehicle's speed. Less than an hour later, they were moving at a less suicidal clip down what looked like a main thoroughfare of the city. Tony snapped his phone shut. "Haley said that they're way behind us, just coming through the suburbs now."_

"_Right. We just passed the…" She abruptly yanked the steering wheel around when an explosion occurred somewhere behind them. "We're too late."_

* * *

Ducky held his hat on with one hand and accepted the assistance of a Marine with the other as he clambered out of the helicopter behind Gibbs and Vance. He glanced around the plaza where they had landed, noting that the damage didn't seem as severe as it had from the air – mostly broken windows and bits of debris floating about. "How far are we from ground zero?" he shouted to be heard over the helicopter, which still making a considerable racket in spite of the fact that it seemed to be powering down.

"Well, it depends on which one you mean," the Marine who had helped him to the ground shouted back. "We're about halfway between the sites of the third and fourth detonations, about five blocks from the street where they all took place."

"Major Costa, can you tell us anything new?" Vance asked, looking so unsteady that Ducky's first instinct was to ask him to sit for a moment.

"I'm not sure that we know anything more. If you'll just walk this way."

Ducky fell into step between Gibbs and Vance and they walked four abreast down the middle of what should have been a busy urban street. Major Costa was reiterating details at Vance's request. "We know there were six devices set up in the service tunnels underneath Avinguda Diagonal. The first detonated at 1748, local time, in the university district. Subsequent devices detonated in order from west to east at thirty-second intervals. The devices were placed in proximity to gas mains…"

Ducky tuned out the rest of what he was sure was a very detailed and comprehensive report as the scenery began to change. The buildings they were passing were more heavily damaged and the cars sat at strange angles. In spite of the fact that the attack had occurred over twenty-four hours ago, thick dust still hung in the air. As they passed a body loosely covered by a soiled white sheet, he was reminded that dust was not the only thing potentially drifting into their lungs. "I hate to interrupt, but perhaps we should be taking some precautions in regard to the air we are breathing?"

Before he could reach into his bag to retrieve the necessary trimmings, Major Costa removed a handful of surgical masks from his pocket. "Sorry, I keep forgetting these damn things." He took a left just before they were about to cross into what appeared to be the most damaged sections. "We've got a command center set up in down here. It's also where we're, well… It's fairly close to a good landing pad for the chopper."

Ducky sorely doubted the soundness of any of the buildings along the street they now walked, but said nothing. He glanced sideways at Gibbs. "None of this is your fault, Jethro."

Gibbs' eyes traced a slow path around the devastation. "It's somebody's fault, Duck."

"Indeed," a deep voice intoned. Ducky immediately recognized the man he had never seen before. "We were told that we could meet a Major Costa here to retrieve our dead."

Major Costa extended his hand. "Director David? They told me you would be along. Good timing."

"Yes." David remained where he was standing in the middle of the street, two men similarly attired in suits behind him, all looking frightfully out of place, given the circumstances. He nodded to Vance before saying, "You are Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs didn't smile. "Yes."

David gestured to one of the men standing behind him, who stepped forward to hand a file to Gibbs. "I believe this will support the evidence you have already."

"This is what we discussed?"

"Yes. I must say that I had my doubts about your motives, but this 'gut' you seem to rely on was correct." He adjusted his tie. "And Ziva trusted you. I am glad I was not mistaken in extending that privilege."

"You have something on the bombing?" Vance asked, reaching for the file.

Gibbs held it away. "I don't think it will be anything you don't already know, Leon."

"Indeed," David repeated. "Perhaps we should step inside and remind Director Vance what his ambition has cost?"

Ducky removed his hat in a gesture of respect as he saw the four coverings at the end of the long room they entered.

* * *

_Tony's vision swam as he tried to open his eyes. He decided that closed was fine for now and damn the rain shower localized on his left temple. Why was it so hard to breathe? And why was he lying on his side? Wasn't he in a car? He took another painful breath and risked opening his eyes._

_There was nothing to see at first. Eventually, he began to make out details – the dashboard, the radio, his left hand bent at a funny angle. He gasped when he tried to move his fingers and experienced blinding pain, enough to make him forget how much the gasp itself hurt. He fought to get his breathing under control. Nothing he did made anything happen, other than each new breath feeling shallower than the last. Either all the dust in the air was affecting him or he needed immediate serious medical attention. Would his teammates be able to…?_

_He tried to call for Ziva, but his voice wasn't working. It had to be the dust. Oh, God. Ziva. He suddenly understood that it was not water dripping on his head. He tried to look for her, but he found that turning his neck made it feel like his throat was closing. He squirmed, ignoring the pain that was now concentrated in his chest, with outposts in his stomach, left wrist and both legs. _

_He stopped biting his lip and opened his eyes when he thought he would be in a good position to check on her. She was staring at him. Except she wasn't. A drop of blood landed on his chin, but he could manage only a strangled grunt. He tried to reach out to her, but his arm refused to comply. Someone had to do something, help her. He looked for Morgan or…that Israeli guy; he was sure they had been in the car too. He jerked his head around quickly, but wished he hadn't. Morgan wouldn't be able to help, nor would Isaac. That was his name – Isaac. He had been a nice guy. So had Morgan. Had he ever told Morgan he was a good agent?_

_Tony knew that everything would be over soon, somehow. He was struggling to breathe, much less speak. It was too late to say the things that really mattered. He reached for Ziva again, fighting through the pain to touch her face. His arm dropped after the briefest contact. He decided he needed to say it. "I…" He was shocked that he got even the first word out before he ran out of air. He closed his eyes and pictured her earlier that day. It may have been his imagination, but her smile seemed to ease his breathing as he drifted to sleep. _

* * *

"Tell us how you ended up working with Trent Kort, Leon."

Ducky halted halfway to the bodies, realizing that Gibbs had not asked Major Costa to escort Agents Haley and Allen to the helicopter as a means of removing their distress. In fact, there were no other Marines currently present at the command center, all having been dispatched on various rescue and recovery missions throughout the city; there were only Director David and his two men, Vance, Gibbs and himself. Ducky quietly turned to watch the proceedings.

Vance was holding his hand up in gesture of surrender. "If you just give me a chance to explain, you'll understand that this is never what I intended to happen."

"You did not intend to introduce Kort to an executive at Keegan Defense Technologies?" David asked. "We, naturally, could have linked them to the new explosives being used in the recent attacks, but it is always nice to have the middleman as well."

Gibbs smiled mirthlessly. "Cynthia held onto a copy of that glowing recommendation Jen wrote for you take a very cushy position. Shouldn't have gotten rid of her, Leon."

"Jen and I had dinner on the night she gave me that letter. That was when she told me she was sick and she wished I wasn't planning to leave."

"And you thought it was okay to set her up since she was going to die anyway?"

"I didn't…I only met Kort when he stopped by to deliver that get out of jail free card for her. He made me an offer to tip off that Svetlana about Decker in exchange for introducing him to people at Keegan. Do you think I could have been promoted to Director if the SecNav knew I was going to work for a defense contractor? She was the only one who knew about it and…and she got to go out in a blaze of glory instead of wasting away. You think she wouldn't chose the former?"

"Pretty flimsy excuse, Leon. I thought you were awfully willing to cover up Jen's murder."

"Not like you, right, Jethro?"

Gibbs continued without pausing, "But I never thought you were capable of destroying a major European city. How much did Kort pay you for this?"

"Kort told me this whole thing was a set up! After testing the bombs around Europe to get them noticed, he was supposed to gather all the bad guys for a big demonstration, except the demonstration wouldn't happen and the CIA would take out a huge number of big shots. Kort must have gone rogue or something!"

Deciding that he had heard quite enough to turn his stomach, Ducky turned his back on the arguing men and attended to his work. He knelt and lifted the corner of the first sheet. Cause of death was easy to ascertain. He was very glad he did not recognize the poor decapitated soul. The second man looked familiar, as if they had met once or twice. He too was in a sad state, having suffered massive chest trauma and blood loss.

He took a deep breath and lifted the third and fourth sheets at once. Up until this moment, he had been hoping it was a mistake, that the reports had been erroneous. Oddly enough, they seemed to be facing each other. Ducky allowed the sheets to cover them again. The image he had seen in Abby's lab before leaving for this awful trip seemed a much better way to think of them. He rested a hand on each of their heads. "You didn't deserve this, not you two."

Increased commotion across the room pulled Ducky out of his reflections. Gibbs was dragging Vance toward him. "You are gonna look and see what your stupid, selfish, criminal decisions have done. I am gonna make you look at every person here you killed. Ducky?"

"Jethro…"

"Duck, show him."

"I will not allow you to use them like this. They were your friends. Show respect."

Gibbs glared at him for a moment before relaxing. He released Vance's collar with a heavy sigh. "You're right. Leon Vance, I'm placing you under arrest for…"

Vance's eyes suddenly rolled back as he staggered to the side, blood oozing from a depression in the side of his skull. David brought his arm down again, the large piece of brick in his hand connecting with roughly the same spot. Gibbs held out his arm to stop Ducky from rushing to Vance's aid.

After a few moments, David stood and removed a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. He straightened his tie as if that were the only thing amiss. "Truly a tragedy that your Director Vance was killed when a piece of a building made unstable by the blasts collapsed on him."

"You really think that was the best response in this situation? He just confessed."

"What was your response when your daughter was murdered, Agent Gibbs?" David crouched to look under the appropriate sheet. "I had once retained a hope that my wife would forgive me, but not now." He rose slowly. "My men will handle this."

Ducky held a wad of gauze over Vance's fatal wound to complete the illusion when Major Costa returned. The sick feeling in his stomach refused to go away.

* * *

_He opened his eyes slowly and savored the feeling of waking up beside her. She slept along his side, head on his shoulder, hand over his heart. Although he knew the breeze causing the sheer white curtains to billow inward was warm, it felt cool in comparison to her breath on his skin. He reached across his body to caress her cheek with his fingertips. She smiled in her sleep before her eyelids fluttered open. She stretched, pressing her body into his as she reached her arms over her head and pointed her toes. "Mmm. Good morning." _

_He felt his heart speed up as only one reply came to his lips. "I love you."_

_Her face seemed to glow as she continued to smile at him. "I love you, too."_

The End


End file.
